


Once Bitten, Twice Inked

by ro_mm_ck



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ro_mm_ck/pseuds/ro_mm_ck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam goes to get a tattoo and is forced to deal with a change in feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Bitten, Twice Inked

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to luvscharlie for the name. Oddly enough, the last tattoo I got was done by a girl called Shannon. :) Prompt: fandom_fridays "Once upon a time, I had loved a smile like that."

"'Once upon a time, I had loved a smile like that'," Dean read. "What's that supposed to mean? Why would you want to get that tattooed on your body?'

"It's personal, Dean," Sam answered.

"But what does it mean?" Dean persisted.

"The reason why they call it personal is because it's something I'm not telling you," Sam argued.

"Is it from a book?" Dean asked.

"Yes. Now go away so I can get started," Sam ordered. The tattoo artist was standing by waiting for his brother to leave so that he could begin.

"Why do I have to leave?"

"Because state law requires it," the girl, whose name plate read 'Shannon', said from her stool. Her hands were already covered in black latex gloves. Her station was set up with her ink and gear. She'd been watching the two of them argue with a bemused expression.

"This is ridiculous," Dean argued as he stepped toward the door. "What am I gonna do? Spit on his skin or something?"

"Dean!"

"Alright, fine. I'll be in the car," Dean agreed begrudgingly.

"Fine."

"So," Shannon said, looking over at the paperwork at her station, "Sam?"

"Yes."

"What's the tattoo about?" she asked with a smile. Sam laughed before pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on top of his laptop bag. He sat on the desk chair in front of her facing the door. He felt the razor drag across his skin as she prepped the skin on his back for the design.

"Like anything, it's about love, something like that anyway," Sam admitted honestly. When she'd finished with the razor, she rubbed an oily substance on his skin and applied the temporary tattoo to his back. She passed him a hand mirror and pointed him toward the wall-length one on the back of the door.

"Make sure it's where you want it to end up," she suggested. Sam looked at the backwards words on his skin and sighed. Getting this tattoo wasn't going to change his life. It wasn't going to make anything any easier. It wasn't going to make him forget Jess or Sarah or Madison or the strange something that had started happening between he and Dean. The words on his skin weren't going to do anything but taunt him with their truth. They were going to remind him of how Dean's eyes crinkled when he smiled, that his lips would purse when he was convinced of his own cleverness, and that the skin on his cheeks would flush when Sam happened to catch his gaze.

"It looks good," he said, handing her back the mirror and sitting down once again.

"Let's get started then. I'm going to start with a small line," she said as she picked up the ink and settled into place.

"Okay," Sam said, settling his head on his arms.

"And let me know if you need to stop. This is pretty big so just give me a shout if it gets to be too much," she added.

Sam had to stop himself from laughing. After all he'd been through, he hardly expected to be effected by a tattoo. He and Dean had done their tattoos by hand and he was sure a professional was going to be less sadistic and sarcastic than his older brother.

"You got it," he said. When the first buzz of the needle touched Sam's skin, he was surprised. Sure, it hurt a little, but it was nothing like the feeling of Dean repeatedly jabbing the ink into his skin. He found himself unconsciously thinking back to that night. It was before things had become strange between them, before the long silences and uncomfortable car rides. Now that he had a moment of quiet to think about it, it had been the beginning of them.

"So, who's this girl?" Shannon asked to fill the quiet.

"It's not just one person," Sam answered.

"This is a group tattoo?" she asked, and he could hear the smile in her voice. Sam chuckled as she dipped the needle into the ink.

"Something like that," he answered cryptically.

"Okay, we're not talking about the girl," Shannon said wisely. "Who was the guy in here with you?"

"Do you want to talk about politics or religion instead?" Sam asked.

"Touchy touchy," she said with a laugh. "So, read any good books lately?"

Sam's face lit up with a grateful smile as the needle once again touched his skin. She worked quickly, tracing the outline of the words as they talked about a few novels and some television shows Sam had never seen. When she began the shading, he stopped for a moment, thinking of Dean's hand on his chest, that moment when Sam had looked up into his brother's eyes and met a look he'd never before seen directed at himself. Dean had quickly looked back to his skin but things had been different since that moment.

The scrape of the needle over freshly tattooed skin reminded him of how his skin had burned for days. He would casually brush his hand over the tattoo, his skin warm from the healing, and his heart would begin to pound in his chest. Just the memory of Dean looking into his eyes with desire clouding them was enough to have Sam half hard.

"Just a second," he said when she wiped his back with a paper towel before starting again.

"Need a break?" she asked.

"Nope, need to change positions. Just a little... uncomfortable," he answered. He tried to be as discrete as possible. Even with jeans as baggy as his usually were, Sam was constricted and had to scoot back in the chair a bit to relieve some of the tension.

"Better?"

"Yes, thank you."

"We're almost done actually," she said as the needle once again dipped into his skin.

"Okay," he said, trying to maintain some sort of conversation. This lack of focus was leading his head toward bizarre thoughts and sensations but he just couldn't get himself to think of anything but Dean sprawled out in the front seat of the Impala. He would have been more comfortable in the back but he never slept there if it could be helped. One booted foot would be up on the seat, the other on the floor, legs spread in a way that wouldn't have even caused Sam to blink a year ago. Now it made him curious about the smiles they'd exchanged over the years and when they'd become loaded with meaning.

Shannon chatted mindlessly to herself and she finished the final bits of shading and Sam tried to tell himself that he was hallucinating. He didn't want to believe that things had actually changed in this way. How often does a person have to tell himself that the impossible is now very much possible?

"All done," she said, spraying and wiping his back, dropping the towel into the trash. "Go take a look," she said, handing him a mirror and smiling.

Sam looked at the black ink now permanently showcased on his back. Around the looping and yet clean design, his skin was red and angry looking. He nodded his head, turned to her, and smiled.

"Thanks. It looks great," he said.

"Awesome. Let's get you taped up and then you can be on your way to wherever you boys are heading," she said, grabbing several large bandages and medical tape. Sam could feel her fingers through the bandage even though she was being very careful to touch it as little is possible.

Sam put his shirt back on while she cleaned up her station. It was going to be interesting trying to sleep with a seven inch stripe of healing skin across his shoulder blades. He carefully slung his bag over his shoulder as she gave him the care instructions. He thanked her, paid her, and walked out to the car. Just as he'd suspected, Dean was lounging in the front seat.

He could tell he wasn't asleep even though his eyes were closed. Led Zeppelin blared from the car's speakers as Dean absentmindedly tapped his foot to the beat. He was crumpled up into the most uncomfortable position Sam could imagine but the look on his face betrayed a sense of calm.

Sam opened the door by his feet and Dean's eyes instantly opened, the peace on his face gone in favor of intense scrutiny. Realizing it was only Sam, he slid both feet to the floor, tucking his legs underneath the steering wheel. His hands gripped the wheel as Sam sat down next to him. After a beat, he turned the music down a touch and looked expectantly at Sam.

"Well, let's see it," he said.

"Can't," Sam said as he dropped his bag onto the back seat. "Supposed to keep it covered for an hour."

"Right."

"It's true," Sam argued.

"I wasn't fighting you, Sam. It should take us about an hour to get back to the hotel room in Prospect. What're you supposed to do after the hour?"

"Clean it with a mild soap," he said with a grimace.

"And you've got your go-go-gadget arms for this?" Dean said, smirking as he put the car in gear and maneuvered their way out of the parking lot.

"I was going to ask my dick of a brother for help, but if he's too busy I can manage with a washcloth," Sam said, rising to the bait.

"You and your washcloth should be very happy together," Dean said before he could help himself. Suddenly his brain caught up with his mouth. It was another one of those moments where something that would have been completely innocuous before just sounded wrong.

Sam couldn't take much more of this. There was no way Dean was going to have a talk about what was going on between them, Sam was sure of it. There's no guidebook out there for dealing with shit like this. It's not as if Sam could go to the library and page through "Incest For Dummies" to sort it all out.

"I mean, I'll help," Dean said, his tone guarded and defensive.

"With the washcloth or the tattoo?" Sam asked. He'd had enough. He wasn't going to tiptoe around this anymore. They were both feeling it. It wasn't as if Sam was looking at Dean with years of longing behind his eyes. He was looking at him and seeing the lust he felt reflected right back at him. The burn on his back from a needle repeatedly pushing ink into his skin was nothing compared to how his body felt right now. It was as if the sense memory of the tattoos they'd given each other was coursing through his veins and there was nothing to be done but to see what direction it would take.

"Sam," Dean said, clenching the wheel and keeping his eyes strictly fixed on the road.

"I'm tired, Dean," Sam said, leaning toward the window and touching his head to the glass. "I'm tired of this dance that we've been doing."

Dean said nothing. The gravel beneath the tires added itself to the soundtrack of _the_ most uncomfortable moment of Sam's life. He stared at Dean's profile in the hopes that his gaze would force his older brother to say something. He watched as Dean took a deep breath and tilted his head toward Sam and said, "Me too."


End file.
